


the darkness will rise from the deep

by callunavulgari



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What should I care for frivolous things such as this? Pretty hair,” she spits, “will not win me the war.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the darkness will rise from the deep

**Author's Note:**

> At the start of 5x12 I noticed that Morgana's hair is significantly more... together than it has been the last few episodes. Which made me want to write about Mordred brushing her hair. And thus this was born.

“You do not care for yourself enough, m’lady.”  
  
She scoffs at him, tossing her head. It makes the horsehair brush jerk against a tangle, and she gives a muffled curse of pain as her head is wrenched to the side. “What should I care for frivolous things such as this? _Pretty hair,_ ” she spits, “will not win me the war.”  
  
He smiles so sweetly at times. It makes her remember the feel of steel in her gut, his eyes gone cold as her own, before that sweet smile overtook his face once more.  
  
“Not for the war, m’lady, but for yourself. You have such—”  
  
“Beautiful hair, yes, yes, I know,” she hisses. Gwen had once told her such things, her hands soft as she deftly untangled the knots. The brush against her scalp reminds her of sweeter times, when it was... easier to love. Easier to trust.  
  
Mordred strokes the brush through her hair, making the curls go shiny and new again—flowing black and lustrous across her shoulders. He hums as he piles a section of it at the top of her head—a soft, sweet druid song to match his poisonously sweet face.  
  
“Trust me, Lady Morgana. At times, beauty is power.”  
  
She knows this, has wielded it like a weapon in the past, but she has long since given up on needing such trivial things. _Power_ is power, and it is something she has quite a bit of.  
  
Trust me, he says and the laugh that builds low in her gut has her fighting the impulse to dash his brains against the wall. Not yet. She needs him for Emrys—for _Merlin_ , the poisonous little snake—and only then will she be free to destroy the little druid boy’s sweet smile.  
  
She gives him a smile of her own, one that tastes bitterly of hemlock.  
  
Morgana Pendragon trusts no one.


End file.
